


Consul Chronicals

by followmetoyourdoom



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hate Sex, Redemption, but then develops, starts off as at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followmetoyourdoom/pseuds/followmetoyourdoom
Summary: Hate/anger sex that starts to develop feels, you're welcome~ Apprentice as yourself, starting off doming with a lil switch up in later chapters. Bonus au angst chapter at the end.





	1. Banging Banter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maybeawriter6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeawriter6/gifts).



> Originally various things I wrote for a friend across a month or so, now complied and reconstructed for your wine boi thirsting pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the tension turns sexual between yourself and Consul Valerius, it's up to you to break the ice. Or him, whichever you prefer :>

You don't really know how it started. But that's not the point. The point is that you have Valerius at your mercy. Stripped of his power, his rank, clothes disheveled but not completely off.  
  
His hands are tied behind him, rendering him helpless.  
  
"So, Consul," you say as you walk around him, pushing him to the floor so he's at your feet. "You called me something earlier." You bend down and gently lift his chin up, ever so careful not to damage his pretty face. "What was it again, hmm?  
  
He mutters something and you let his head drop.  
  
"Seems you need some more encouragement, hmm?"  
  
With a pull of his bound hands he's now face first on the bed, pants lowered just enough.  
  
The strap-on fits perfectly, Valerius whimpering as you push inside him. His cries are so delightful, so needy and desperate.  
  
So deserving.  
  
"Something the matter, Consul?" You lean over him, then, without warning, pull on his braid so your face is right next to his.  
  
Your hot breath flushes across his neck and ear, and you bite him, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make him elicit another one of those delightful whimpers. "What. Was it. You. Called me. Again?" Your hips thrust with every word.  
  
His voice breaks as he struggles to find his breath, unable to get any words out, unable to do anything.  
  
You smirk and let his face drop back on the bed. "That's what I thought, Consul."  
  
With a final thrust, you pull out, leaving him unsatisfied.  
  
"Please..." he finally gets out, "please."  
  
You tut at him and turn him over, straddling his hips, crushing him as best you can. "You'll have to beg better than that, Consul. Is there something you want?"  
  
"Please," he repeats, "again."  
  
"Again what?" you ask with a grin as if you don't already know.  
  
He licks his lips, looking up at you, all the strength and contempt gone from his face. "Please, I need you again, more, please... Magician."  
  
A smirk now. "Oh you finally learnt my title have you?"  
  
He nods, looking up at you, desperately.  
  
Such a shame he's so pretty, such a shame you couldn't slap that look from his face. But then why would you want to? This is what you want.  
  
This time you make sure he's facing you, making sure you can see each and every flicker of want and need and pain on his face as you thrust into him angrily. Each time harder, each time faster.  
  
He cries out, a wordless cry, and fills his pants. Not that you care. You have no interest in what's in there after all.  
  
No, now you move to his face, raising yourself above him, pulling the strap on away and hitching your skirt up some more.  
  
"Lick," you command, and he does, he has to. He wants to. He cherishes it, even as you press hard against him, half suffocating him, he moans into you.  
  
He's not used to going down on women, but he soon gets the hang of it.  
  
But you maintain your composure, he's the one that wriggles in desperate lust, he's the one that bucks up fruitlessly.  
  
You're the one in control this time.  
  
His face is a mess before you pull away, satisfied enough. You lean back, pressing heavily on his crotch, making him wince some more.  
  
A smile tugs at your lips. "Clean yourself up, Consul, you've made such a mess."  
  
And then you leave him. Bound. Helpless. Clothes covering just enough, but stained. His hair a mess, but the braid still intact.  
  
It's what he gets when he messes with you.  
  
Weeks pass and the exchanges continue. The banter picks up a flirty tone and almost doubles, the palace staff shocked at how much you seem to hate each other.  
  
But that hate is wearing thin.  
  
And with each passing meeting, things change and develop.  
  
"How would you feel about, changing up the status quo a little?" you say slowly one night as you trace his cheekbones.  
  
The Consul looks up at you under lowered eyelashes, his breathing already heavy and his gaze lustful. He'll take whatever you dish out, whenever you want. "What did you have in mind?"  
  
"Well," you nip at his jaw and then his neck, "I was thinking," another bite, this one on his shoulder as you pull open his shirt in the dim light, "that," another, "we could," you trail kisses down his chest, "shift the focus," now his abdomen, "down a little." One final kiss at his waistband.  
  
Valerius frowned a little, concerned even. "But I thought you didn't l-"  
  
"Oh I'll be putting my own spin on things, trust me." You grin. "This is going to be torturous for you."  
  
And suddenly the lustful look is back. "Don't make promises now," he murmurs, watching as you skirt along his hip bones with your nails. He can't help bucking a little.  
  
"Nu-uh-uh, patience," you scold, pinning him down firmly.  
  
You roll your thumbs across the front of his pants and he hisses. "Please, Magi-"  
  
"Shush, no begging. Yet."  
  
He whines a little but shuts his mouth, though it soon opens again the more you toy with him, teasing him and delighting in the sounds you get from him.  
  
Eventually you take pity and lower his pants, breathing warm air onto his erection.  
  
He quivers expectantly under you, but you haven't even begun yet.  
  
"So Consul," You grin up at him, a fiendish smile on your face." What insults have you got for me today?"  
  
He can tell right from the start that you're not going to let him talk, but he tries anyway. "Well I-" and he chokes as you skim your nail up his length.  
  
Your grin widens. "What was that Consul?" This time you run your tongue over the tip eliciting various pained noises from him. "I think I missed that, can you repeat yourself?"  
  
"W-witc-aah," he wriggles under you with but a mere flex of your fingers around his base.  
  
You drum your fingers against him now and the vibrations alone are enough for his to lose his mind, fingers clutching at the bedspread as he tries to keep it together.  
  
"Aw, what's wrong, Valerius?" you tease, moving closer to him but still refusing to give him what he wants. "Need a little help?"  
  
He whines some more, cursing you under his breath then choking on his own words as you start moving your hand ever so slowly, lowering your head to suck gently, making him want more and more until he can't remember his own name.  
  
"M-magi... ple-ah- please, I need mrph," his eyes roll back as you run your tongue across the tip.  
  
His hips buck once again, needing that friction, that release.  
  
So instead you pull back. "Tch, and you were doing so well," you scold him, moving back up the bed to lift his chin up.  
  
"I'm sorry, please, Magician, I-"  
  
"Now didn't I say no begging, hmm?" You roll your own hips against his, one hand curling around his braid. "Kiss me," you demand of him, and he gives it freely.  
  
His kiss is peppered with urgency, craving you further down but taking what he can get. He moans when you bite his lip, encouraging you to do so again and again, to punish him for his lack of self control.  
  
One final nip and you pull away. "Now are you going to behave yourself?"  
  
He nods furiously, pleading eyes watching you and willing you to go back to your previous teasing.  
  
So you do, tracing lines around the base, digging nails into his hips, blowing cold air onto the tip, and suckling ever so slowly up the length.  
  
Your tongue circles his tip and you grin up at him. "Now, you can beg," you say before taking him into your mouth.  
  
It's not even five seconds before he's a writhing mess again, curling his hands in your hair and gripping tightly, whispering pleads over and over again and begging you to let him finish. But as soon as he gets close, as soon as you taste him, you pull back with an evil glint in your eyes. Testing him, pushing him to his limits.  
  
"Hold it for me, Valerius."  
  
"What do you think I'm trying to do, witch," he practically cries out.  
  
And that won't do at all.  
  
You squeeze him and wrap a hand around his braid to pull his head back and expose his neck. "Be careful what names you use, Consul." You run your tongue up across his adam's apple. "Or I might have to draw this out longer."  
  
With as much strength as he can muster, he stares you in the eyes and sneers, "try me, witch."  
  
And then you show no mercy.  
  
Nails dig harder, whines become louder, teeth scrape and breath catches in a hiss. Hand and tongue work faster, hips buck needily and moans become more frequent.  
  
Eventually he can't take it anymore and you pull back just in time.  
  
Hot liquid spills and you grin down at him. At the man you turned into a incoherent mess of crumpled clothes and loose strands of hair, his breathing still heavy and his hands only just relaxing. You swear you notice a trail of blood on his lip before his tongue darts out to catch it.  
  
"You..." he breathes, "are absolutely," he lets out soft sigh as you trace your nails up his chest, "absolutely wicked."  
  
You laugh a little, "did you enjoy it?"  
  
"More than enjoyed it."  
  
"Good," and you find yourself very happy about that fact. Perhaps happier than you should be. You clear your throat. "Means we can do it again and I'll torture you some more."  
  
He chuckles a little. "Can't wait."  
  
"Here," you hand him a towel from the side of the bed, "clean yourself up."  
  
"What, you're not going to do it?" he teases, almost back to normal now. Almost. You swear he seems less... obnoxious than usual.  
  
You toss the towel at his head. "Don't push your luck."


	2. Daring Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As things develop, Valerius finds himself wondering more and more about what the future holds, and you find you yourself are growing a little softer too

Valerius finds himself daydreaming a lot more, thinking about the future. It's all fantasies of course - you've made it quite clear where you stand with him - but he can't help wondering.  
  
It's as his thoughts are drifting that, in a careless uncharacteristic lapse of concentration, he bangs his glass, shattering it in his hand.   
  
And you're the one he goes to for help.  
  
"You're a moron, you know that right," you say, wrapping his hand tightly in bandages, perhaps a little too tightly.  
  
"Oh I'm well aware, you do tell me often enough. At least I'm not a witch," he drawls, but there's a sigh in his voice and your hand lingers on his for a moment longer than it's meant to.  
  
You clear your throat. "There, sorted. Don't say I don't do anything for you."  
  
"I would never say that." He says then blinks. "After all who else is going to knock my ego down a couple of pegs and remind me how terrible I am." And he's back to normal, sneering at you.  
  
With an eye roll, you stand up, trying to ignore the urge to ask him what he really meant. It didn't matter. There wasn't nothing between you except hate. Never would be.  
  
The first time he comes to you with it unravelled and bloodied you show him to the infermry. You don't have time for this.  
  
The second time he asks you to do it. "I'd rather not have to talk to Valdemar any more than I have to," he says curtly, very determinedly not looking at you. "Besides I think I'm due for my daily dose of insult."  
  
"Idiot," you say. But it seems almost affectionate. And you take care of his wound as you did before, resisting the urge to kiss it better.   
  
Enemies don't kiss each others wounds better. Than again, enemies also don't sleep with each other.  
  
"There, don't mess it up again."  
  
"I won't," he says. And he does. Because he craves those gentle touches, those insults that have become pet names. He craves to be close to you in a soft intimate way. And he hates it almost as much as you hate him. Almost.  
  
But he can't get rid of a certain nagging feeling.  
  
You're making him a better person. Getting under his skin. One day he actually helps someone. Him, the great Consul Valerius helps a servant. He insults her afterwards for good measure, but his heart isn't in it.   
  
No, his heart keeps tugging at the same thing over and over again, it races when you get near and he so looks forward to your banter.  
  
When night falls, he finds himself craving something else and slips into your room.   
  
And when you're done with him, he stays.  
  
And, moreover, you find you don't mind, you find yourself... relieved in a way. You find yourself craving his presence.  
  
As if pulling you from your thoughts, gentle fingers caress your face in the dim light, balcony doors open to a warm breeze and sweet night chirpings. The bed drapings flutter and mix with your hair as you lie on top of him. Careful, for the first time, oh so careful.  
  
He plays with the hem of his shirt. He doesn't usually take it off unless it's too dark to see.  
  
But now...  
  
"Can I show you something?" he says pointedly, gesturing to how he's lifting his shirt a little.  
  
"Are you sure?" you ask, and he nods. This isn't how things normally go - waking up together in the morning - and you aren't sure why you're doing this or what this even means for you. For both of you.  
  
But he's trusting you. Trusting you with old scars, old memories, baring himself to you.  
  
Ever so slowly, he tugs his shirt off, worry covering his features as he waits for your reaction. And your lips part softly, you stare at him in awe, a slight blush colouring your cheeks.  
  
There's no way this should affect you this much and yet...  
  
"You're gorgeous," you whisper, reaching up to him, tracing lines and muscles. Old, almost fainted scars from a time behind him now.  
  
He scoffs a little and opens him mouth to speak but too quickly you're tugging him by his hair against you, pressing your lips to his, wanting to convince him how important this is to you. How much it means that he trusts you like this.   
  
Suddenly he's not Consul Valerius, member of the court, he's just... Valerius, your Valerius.   
  
You pull away with a smile on your face, and he mirrors you, cheeks colouring. A gentle touch of your face and yours are too.  
  
You're expecting him to ask for the same, to prove your loyalty to him.  
  
But he doesn't.  
  
He just stands there looking at you as if you're all he'll ever need. You don't have to prove anything to him.  
  
Instead you duck your head, pressing a soft kiss to a scar, covering its length and whispering sweet nothings, promising protection and affection. There's another word you want to use but it feels too rushed, too dangerous. Like if you say it there will be no going back, no hiding what there is between you.  
  
Each scar receives a kiss, each line a gentle murmur, each breath warm and sweet.  
  
And Valerius is so starved for this, for the sweet kind of love that only you can give. But like you, he stays quiet. Like you, he dare not break the moment.  
  
Until he does.  
  
"Let me take care of you for once." The words come like the breeze, warm, inviting, sweet.  
  
You didn't think Valerius was capable of such indulgence, of such kindness. And yet there he is below you, staring up at you as if you were the night sky.  
  
A marvel of creation, a blessing in disguise.  
  
His Magician.  
  
"May I," his thumb brushes your lip, "or do I have to make a fool out of myself again?"  
  
You chuckle. "Well you're most of the way there already." You can't help some good old banter, it wouldn't be the same without it.  
  
But you press your lips to his and he breathes out softly against you, tenderly shifting his hand through your hair.   
  
Experienced fingers travel down, holding your sides and sending shivers down your spine. Not so long ago you would have slapped them away and held his hands above his head. But now you melt into his touch, wanting careful hands to leave not so careful marks.  
  
His mouth finds you neck and sucks gently, teeth restrained but still deliciously present.   
  
"What do you want next, Magician?" he asks, smiling up at you. "I'm here to please after all." He places a soft kiss to the edge of your neckline, in the centre of your chest. Asking permission as always.  
  
Your fingers starting to unbutton your outfit is all the agreement he needs, and he delves down, so eager to please.   
  
Delicate fingertips trace soft curves and sensitive bumps, warm breath washes over you, well practised lips work wonders, and his tongue curls delightfully.   
  
All the time you're still in charge. All the time he keeps glancing up at you, hoping he's doing things right.  
  
Your hand curls around his braid and for a minute he tenses, but then you shift your palm flat against his head and pull him closer.  
  
He laughs a little against you, "enjoying this then?"  
  
You hum in agreement. "You're doing such a good job," the praise falls from your lips and he starts up at you in awe, capturing you in a kiss before moving back down.  
  
You sigh as he moves even lower, lifting your legs either side of him, looking up at you with somewhat of a smirk. But it's a playful one, a kind one. One you enjoy looking down at.  
  
One hand still buried in his hair, your other grasps the bed post.  
  
"Ready?" he murmurs, still checking even now.  
  
You nod, not sure what to say. You find yourself not wanting to throw another insult but also not trusting yourself to say anything else.  
  
But he doesn't need anything else.   
  
His tongue circulars carefully and his grip on your legs tightens a little in the best way possible.   
  
A roll here, some pressure there, and he's got you at his mercy. But he doesn't use that, doesn't care about being on top or using what you had against him. He just cares about out making you happy, about pleasuring you.  
  
And that's something he's getting very good at. He knows exactly when to run his tongue down, knows exactly when to dip in to check the moisture, knows exactly how to tease that little bud until your mouth drops in ecstacy. Until his name drops with your shuddering breaths, and he licks his lips before too much is wasted.  
  
"How did I do?" The words would usually be cocky, arognant, knowing he was the best at what he did. But he's genuinely asking now, he craves that praise none of his other partners gave him.  
  
Craves your praise.  
  
And you give it freely, leaving sweet kisses down his face as you shuffle back down, laying against him, not trusting your legs to hold you up anymore.  
  
"You were amazing," you kiss him. "Thank you."  
  
And that's the first time anyone's thanked him either.  
  
His grin grows and grows until his entire face is lit up with joy. You've never seen him like this before, no one's ever seen him like this before.   
  
It's like he's a new man, someone who's being craving pure happiness for so long but had given up on the notion all together.  
  
Until he met you.  
  
He laughed a little and stroked your face. "And to think how this all started."  
  
You laugh with him, leaning into his touch. "You're still an idiot."  
  
"And you're still a savage," he chuckles, scoffing a little. "To think you've never had the bittersweet taste of a Merlot run across your tongue," he teased.  
  
"Ah well, there's better things to taste," you say pointedly, giving him a peck on his lips.  
  
He laughs and kisses you back. "Touché, Magician."  
  
Had someone told you a few months ago that you would be sleeping with Consul Valerius, and, more over, falling for him romantically, well. You would have laughed in their face.  
  
And yet now you couldn't imagine a more perfect place to be.


	3. Trying Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tying into the current canon (so don't read if you haven't played book XIII) and also switching the roles a little

"You didn't use it," you sigh at him. "We agreed on the word and you didn't-"  
  
"You were having fun!" Valerius insisted, wincing a little. "Besides it wasn't that bad, I've had worse."  
  
Another sigh. "That's not the point, Valerius." He falls silent and you touch his cheek gently, tilting his chin up so he can look at you. "I never want this to become uncomfortable for you." You trace his jawline. "We're in this together, we have to work together to make this right and... and I don't want to hurt you."  
  
He covers your hand with his. "I know, I'm... I'm sorry-"  
  
"No, I'm sorry," you stroke his hair lightly and he repositions himself so his head is in your lap.  
  
As you comb the rest of the braid out of his hair, he hums quietly, drumming a beat on your leg. "I promise I'll use it next time. I don't want to put you in this position again."  
  
You nod then prod him gently. "Sit up, I'll braid your hair back up."  
  
He does as you ask, eyes sliding close as your careful fingers scrape against his scalp and wind his hair together.  
  
When you're done, he doesn't seem to want to move and just leans against you, lifting one of your hands to his lips and kissing each knuckle sweetly.   
  
"You work wonders with these fingers of yours."  
  
Almost as if he read your thoughts, he turns as you pull him into an embrace. His face buries into your shoulder and you tuck the side of his head under your chin.  
  
"I feel so safe with you," he murmurs, almost without thinking.  
  
Your heart skips and you stroke the back of his head, rocking slowly with him in your arms. Safe in your arms.  
  
Sadly that doesn't last.  
  
Secrets are revealed and doubts put into place, trust is questioned and when it comes down to deciding how to deal with this new information - that you've died and come back to life, that it was meant to be Lucio but for the other Magician's interference, that Valerius never should have met you - he doesn't know how to.  
  
"Who- what even are you?" He tugs at his hair, confusion running wild with the thoughts in his head. "All this time, all this time and I've gone back to the same thing-"  
  
"Valerius please," you reach out to him and he pulls away, his lip curling in disgust.   
  
And it breaks your heart.  
  
"I'm not like him," you insist, "this wasn't my choice!"  
  
"He could have been here if it wasn't for you!" The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Because there's still a part of him, however twisted, however abused, however wrong that wants Lucio back.  
  
Your heart steels itself against the cracks, hurt blinding you. "Lucky for you he's coming back anyway then isn't it?"  
  
"...he's what?"  
  
And now there's only dread.  
  
"What do you mean he's-"  
  
But you've turned your back to him, fists clenched furiously as you tune him out. "I thought... I thought this meant more to you," you mutter, words catching a little in your throat. "I thought I did. But I guess it was just Lucio's connection all along, huh?"  
  
"I..." he fights with himself, not knowing the truth, but knowing that isn't it. "No, that's not-"  
  
You whirl around to face him, tears streaking your face. "You said it yourself! He'd be here if it wasn't for me. And you'd prefer that wouldn't you? You'd rather go back to a man like that than-" your breath hitches and more tears fall, "than be with the shadow of a dead girl."  
  
You turn back around and start to walk away, but a gentle hand slips into yours and tugs you back. "No," he says softly, "I wouldn't."   
  
He's still not sure. He still doesn't know what to think or to believe. But he knows that seeing you like this is eating him up inside, he knows that he doesn't want this to end like this. He knows... "I... I think I love you. Or, well, I want to... I want to love and- and for so long Lucio was all I had." His hold on you weakens so you find yourself squeezing his hand back, keeping that physical connection between you. "And then we started our little thing and it became... whatever this is. And I want to call it love, but it don't know what love is."  
  
You sigh shakily and turn around, stroking his cheek. "This... this can be love. We just have to work for it."  
  
"I'm guessing the first step is getting rid of my ex again huh?"  
  
You nod. You can help him put his fears to rest. Once and for all.  
  
And it's a hard path to tread, a hard burden to share. But neither of you are alone, you protect each other. An old victim of Lucio's and a new one.   
  
Time can only tell what the end result will be, but for now you seek comfort in each other's arms.   
  
The revelation if anything brings you closer and it isn't long before you feel completely at ease with him, and he with you. And that's when you suggest switching up the dynamics.  
  
"I'm intrigued, Magician... And what do I have to thank for this change of mind hm? For this great honour," he teases with a grin, moving closer and kissing your neck gently. "Or perhaps you're going soft on me, Chérie, hm?" The nickname is whispered into your ear and you feel yourself shiver.  
  
You push his insufferable face away with a firm pout, though there's a blush on your cheeks. "I just thought we could swap for a change."  
  
Another grin, even as you have his face smooshed slightly. "Swap huh? What exactly did you have in mind?" He turns his head to kiss your hand, an idea sparking behind his eyes. "Perhaps... I could show you how much I enjoy our little meetings. Indulge you in all your-" He kisses the inside of your wrist, looking up at you with mischievous eyes. "Sensitive spots."  
  
You nod, gulping a little. "That uh, that sounds acceptable."  
  
Valerius kisses up your arm until he gets to your collarbone and you instinctively tilt your head to give him better access to your neck.  
  
It's a surprise then when he pulls back.  
  
"Valerius?"  
  
"Hmm? Want me to do something, Magician?"  
  
He's insufferable. "You know what I want," you tap the side of your neck, "here, now."  
  
A soft chuckle. "Of course, anything for you."  
  
He kisses down the curve of your neck ever so softly, almost feather brushing his lips across your skin. He's teasing you and you both love it and hate it. "Valerius..." you hiss, a warning tone to your voice.  
  
"Oh, too much?" he pulls back and you purse your lips.  
  
"No," you say sternly, "not enough."  
  
"So you want me to go harder." That smirk is back and you want nothing more than to wipe it off his face. But that's exactly what he's expecting you to do.  
  
Instead you tease him back. "And here's me thinking you knew what you were doing. Such a shame you're not living up to my expectations, Consul." And now you're the one grinning fiendishly, though not for long as he ducks back down determinedly, scraping his teeth down your neck and sucking at your collar bone hard enough to make you flustered.  
  
He never breaks the skin, not once does he cause you too much harm. But he nips and he runs his tongue across your jugular, ever so carefully, ever so hungrily.  
  
As he dips down your breath hitches needfully, though you dare not admit it.  
  
Valerius rests against you and looks up, idly tracing lines with his fingers where lips once were. "So what comes next I wonder..." he says slowly, picking and choosing his words carefully and drawing them out as much as he can, dipping his voice lower than usual. And when he presses a kiss to your sternum and hums, you feel it coarse through your chest.  
  
It takes you a moment to regain your composure. "Keeping going and maybe you'll get a reward."  
  
"A reward hm?" He places a gentle kiss to the curve of your breast, "What an interesting way to put it, Magician." Another to the other side as your chest swells with each breath. "I'll certainly be happy to receive."   
  
You mutter something about doing your worst but he's already moved to your shoulder again, teasing the coarse material off it and shimmying it down your torso. And even though he's seen you many a time before, he still smiles and looks at you as if he's been given fresh air for the first time in years.   
  
Head ducking down, there's nothing but love in his voice as he murmurs your name, showering you with pet names as he speckles your chest with kisses.  
  
And oh how his fingers knead and roll something wonderfully, knowing exactly where you need him, tongue and teeth following soon after. But so slowly, ever so slowly. Enough to wrench an exasperated moan from your lips, making him pull back.  
  
"Need a break, Dear?" he teases looking up at you between love bites. "Just say the word."  
  
"Ask me if I need a break again and I'll be the one breaking y-mmhrp," your last word becomes a moan as he ducks down and sucks, rolling his tongue across your nipple.  
  
He pulls back again and grins fiendishly. "What was that? Didn't quite catch that."  
  
"Why you-" he cuts you off again, this time to leave a love bite at your throat making you choke on your words. It's so reminiscent of the time you've done the same that you can't help but buck against him.  
  
He chuckles, warm breath drifting across your chest and sending shivers down your spine. "Patience, mon chérie. I'll get you there," he promises.  
  
Hands drift further down tugging at the fabric pooling around your waist. But he stops there, pressing kisses to your abdomen and scraping his teeth across your ribs. It's enough to set your heart racing and your breath aflutter, enough to feel a needy pulse between your legs as he traces your hip.  
  
You tangle your fingers in his hair, nails digging into his scalp and he groans against you, nipping just below your belly button.  
  
He pulls back with a delighted shudder, taking your hands from his head. "Do that again I don't think I'll be able to keep this up for long," he jokes, stroking his thumb over your fingers, charade dropped for a minute.  
  
"I can always tug your hair afterwards," you offer with a small smirk, reaching to curl a loose strand around your forefinger.  
  
Shooting a smirk right back at you, he falls back into character. "Or when I'm between your legs as you buck, there's a good opportunity for you." He even gives you a wink and you start rolling your eyes at him.  
  
But just as before, he takes you by surprise, removing the last of your clothes and sucking at the inside of your thigh.  
  
Your hands quickly grab the bedsheets, and your legs open of their own accord.  
  
"Why I've never known you so eager, Magician," he teases between bites, switching between thighs, getting closer to the middle each time.  
  
"Shut up," you retort back. Admittedly, not your best.  
  
But he laughs anyway, "still so savage huh?" And then he blows cold air over you before dipping down and lapping up the juices there.  
  
There's no point muffling the moan you let out as your hand shifts to grab onto the back of his head as he'd suggested.  
  
"Grip as tight as you want," he murmurs before getting stuck in, moving his tongue so expertly and kneading your thighs and behind with his hands as he lifts you for better access.  
  
After all these months, after all this time. He's still nervous. He wants this to feel right, wants to make you feel as good as you make him feel. Because you deserve that more than anything, you deserve someone willing to give back what they take. He only hopes he's enough.  
  
Luckily for the both of you, his doubts are unfounded.  
  
Your legs shake as he varies the pressure, as he speeds up and slows down and brings you to your edge. He moans into you, throughly enjoying this himself, the vibrations tipping you so close, ever so close.  
  
Nails dig hard, both his and yours; shares sounds encouraging each other; half broken breaths and hums and names and cries scattered without thought without a meaning other than desire and love.  
  
And it's the way he looks up, the smirk he gives you, and the soft blush colouring his face as he sucks and rolls his tongue, that does it for you.  
  
He helps you clean up and, almost reminiscent of all other times, you pull him by his braid. And similar to certain recent times, the kiss you give him is sweet and soft. And, unlike any other time before, you pull back and whisper, "I love you."  
  
Valerius laughs gently. "I'm that good huh?"  
  
You bap him, knowing he's joking, he's said those three words before of course, but your heart jumps into your throat as you wait for-  
  
"I love you too, my Magician."


	4. AU Bonus Chapter: Murder Management

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Au where it was the Apprentice that killed Lucio directly, and Valerius giving up everything to protect you from the fate he's doomed himself to

He decides to help you with your investigation. Without letting you know of course, he knows you don't care about his help. Knows you don't care about him and that he's just being used. It doesn't help convince his heart.  
  
Especially when he finds some evidence that could put you in Lucio's room the night of his murder.   
  
It boggles his mind, so instead of acting straight away, he plots, and he thinks. And he creates a distraction for you as you help the Empress prepare for the masquerade.  
  
To you, it's just a simple dance.  
  
Because of course he'd want a dance. Of course he'd want to show off and lead for once.  
  
The fact that you don't mind is a surprise.  
  
He starts with his usual smirk, but you smile at him and gently take his hand and he's lost now, thoughts still running wild. Lips parting in a silent gasp and a blush colouring his face.  
  
You can't help but blush yourself, wanting so badly to press a kiss to those soft lips, wanting to caress his cheek and run your fingers across his sharp features, to lose yourself in the moment and just be with him. In more ways then just at nights.  
  
But you're in public, so you clear your throat and carefully lead him across the dance floor.  
  
The cogs in his brain turn slowly, and he eventually takes over, sweeping you across the room with a flourish and that well known smirk.  
  
He almost takes your breath away. Almost.  
  
Instead you can't help but laugh a little, enjoying the moment, enjoying being here. With him.  
  
The music rises around you, catering to your every step as you both move in perfect harmony, as if you'd planned this dance long ago in a darkened room with harsh kisses and pulls on hair. As if all that had been building to something more.  
  
He spins you out with a grin - a genuine grin - and curls you back into his arms.  
  
"Magician, I..."  
  
And the song comes to an end. The Empress steps forwards, and you break away from Valerius, an ache in your heart wrenching your words from your throat.  
  
His features betray nothing, though there's a distant look in his eyes. As if he's already far away.  
  
He has his plan. Or rather, sees that there isn't a single one that keeps both of you alive. So he does the only logical thing.  
  
He turns himself in.  
  
It's a shock when you hear it. But not for the reason you think. You find yourself almost wanting to defend him. That Lucio deserved to die from what Valerius told you he used to do to him.  
  
You don't want to, but you can't help going to visit him.  
  
They'd given him a tower. One last look at luxury before it and his life is torn away.  
  
But he doesn't care. He's already parted with the most important part of him. The part that knocks on his- no not his, just a door. The part of him that steps into the room ever so quietly. The part that belongs to you.  
  
"Come to gloat then?" He's got his back to you. "You'll have to hurry up, I hear they want to start the trial in the morning."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He doesn't have to ask why what. "Because, witch, I..." but he doesn't know why. Well. He knows exactly why. But he can't tell you that. For more than one reason. "Your inferior mind wouldn't understand," he sneers instead, falling back on insults.  
  
"Try me, Valerius."  
  
He hates how much he loves the sound of his name on your tongue. Hates that he wishes he could find out if he loves the taste too.  
  
"Leave me alone, witch. Haven't you got better things to do? Or," and now he finally turns. And you see how blotchy his face is, how his hands fiddle with the end of his braid nervously. "Would you like to punish me in your own special way first?" He doesn't say it, but the please is apparent on his face.  
  
You stare at him for a minute, not daring to let the lump in your throat out. "Is that what this is about? Seeking punishment."  
  
"Perhaps." No.   
  
He only has to look at your face to know you see right through him. The expression on your face hurts him so.  
  
You step forwards, reaching out to him despite yourself.  
  
He snaps and turns back around. "Look, I thought about the decision and it's what I thought would..." he sighs. The words get stuck. He can't say he's doing this protect you. He can't even admit it to himself. "What's done is done."  
  
You bite your lip. And step forwards. A gentle hand on his shoulder to turn him around. "Valerius..."  
  
He can't stand it. Can't stand the fake niceness to your voice. He ignores the voice that tells him it isn't fake. Instead he pulls away from you, turns on you in anger. "Get off me, witch, I don't need your pity."  
  
"I don't pity you, you idiot! I'm worried!" You gasp, clasping a hand to your mouth.  
  
You hadn't meant to say that.  
  
As soon as the words left your mouth, Valerius' opened, his breath catching. You can't possibly have just said what he just heard. No one cared about him, no one worried about him. Least of all you. And yet.  
  
"Guess that makes two of us."  
  
That confuses you. "What? Why are you worried about me? I'm not the one that's going to be-" and you can actually feel a sob in your throat. For Valerius. "You idiot!" You lean against him. Trying not to think about how dull life is going to be without him.   
  
Valerius tentatively places a hand on your back. He doesn't understand this. Doesn't understand gentle touches or soft love. But he finds he wants to.  
  
Too bad it's too late.   
  
"I'm going to prove you innocent," you tell him defiantly.  
  
He sighs and very slowly runs his hands up and down your back. "I can't let you do that. It'll spoil my carefully thought out plan, you savage."  
  
You half laugh and push him a little. "Well someone has to get your dumb ass out of this mess."  
  
"I'm serious," and then he says your name. And it's a first for him, actually using your name and not an insult or a title or a nickname. And it sounds so beautiful on his lips. "You can't even be at the trial. It's too risky."  
  
You frown at him now. "Is something going to happen?" He says nothing. "Valerius! You have to tell me what you know!" Still nothing and now you pull away from him to look directly at him, face close to his. "Are you even listening to me, Vale-" and then he's kissing you.  
  
He's kissing you.   
  
And you're kissing him back.  
  
It starts almost rushed, like it's just something to shut you up. Then it turns soft as he cups your cheek. It turns gentle as his other hand weaves into your hair and pulls you close as if he never wants to let you go. As if he's been waiting for something this pure all his life.  
  
And you kiss him back like you're discovering what fresh air smells like, what the joys of music to new ears feels like. What the taste of heartache is like.  
  
All too soon he pulls away, his head buries in your shoulder so you can't see his anguish.  
  
He was right. His name does taste wonderful on your tongue. It tastes like coming home. And he's going to miss that when he's burning in hell.   
  
He clears his throat and pulls away. "Thank you, Magician. But I have made up my mind. Leave me."  
  
"But Valerius-"  
  
"For once let me take the lead," he touches your cheek gently, swallowing audibly, "okay?"  
  
"I can't."  
  
And you leave.   
  
You have to save him. You don't care. You don't care about not caring anymore.   
  
He can see you from the tiny window, pacing the garden, talking with that other magician of yours. Pleading with him and trying to fix Valerius' mess before it's too late, before you lose what you only just discovered you had.  
  
But it's not a mess. This was carefully thought out and he hopes you don't come up with a plan, hopes you can't rescue him. Because if you do...   
  
His eyes squeeze shut at the thought of it, tears threatening to spill.  
  
"Please, mon Chérie, my love," he whispers, word finally falling from his lips thought it's not for your ears. "Please let me do this for you."  
  
When it comes down to it, you can't stop it.   
  
And now he's up there on the gallows. Noose around his neck, hands tied, floor beneath him quivering as if it knows what it's about to do.  
  
Valerius, for his part, looks as arogant and as unamused as ever. To the untrained eye at least.  
  
But you notice that the quivering floor doesn't stop there, his own bound hands shaking, his mouth drawn far tighter than usual. His eyes desperate as they search the crowd.  
  
And then he finds you. And now his face bares the truth for all to see.  
  
He didn't want them to see the truth just as he didn't want you to see this. He wanted your last memory of him to be of that last night together.  
  
A perfect sweet night admist the horrors of reality.  
  
But you are here, and there's nothing he can do.  
  
There's nothing he can do as you push through the crowd, fighting desperately to get to him, not thinking about your actions, only thinking about him.  
  
There's nothing he can do as the executioners hand curls around the lever.  
  
Nothing he can do as the crowd boos and jeers.  
  
But the one thing he can do is mouth those words, those three words both of you had been too afraid to say. Those three words that come too late.  
  
You read his lips as he drops, as the rope goes taut, as you scream and cry and shout 'I love you' back.   
  
But it's too late. It's all too late.  
  
The crowd cheers but you don't hear it, collapsing to the ground you wish could have been beneath his feet.  
  
He's gone. He's gone and you couldn't stop it.


End file.
